


The End of Hresvelg

by wishdaughter



Series: The End of Hresvelg [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, Hurt No Comfort, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:01:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25224304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishdaughter/pseuds/wishdaughter
Summary: The irredeemable remains unredeemed.Love turns to hate.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/Bernadetta von Varley, My Unit | Byleth & Bernadetta von Varley
Series: The End of Hresvelg [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1827457
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	The End of Hresvelg

**Author's Note:**

> For context, this is a slight Silver Snow AU where the Black Eagles are split between the church and empire. Caspar, Ferdinand and Petra stayed with the church—Linhardt, Dorothea and Bernadetta joined the empire.

A sudden piercing pain flared in the back of her neck and her breath choked. Clutching her throat she felt the shaft of an arrow stuck through the skin. She collapsed to her knee and met Edelgard's cold, dead eyes. She wheezed as another arrow sprouted from her chest, and another through her jugular as she toppled over to the floor.

One last painful breath, her vision went black. She hardly cared anymore.

_**And what of the little ones?** _

Panic gripped her still heart. She had already been gone for five years, she couldn't bear to leave them again.

Her senses screamed in agony as she willed her consciousness to return. Just a moment was all she'd need, it wasn't too late. It _couldn't_ be too late.

A single deafening pulse of her heart rushed through her body, extending beyond into the arteries of reality, and the world stopped. The pain of death faded into a dream as she drew herself back.

She stopped when her heart felt like it would rupture from the strain—but the first arrow still whistled in the air. The archer was already nocking the next with not a single movement wasted, murder burned in familiar grey eyes.

_Bernadetta._

Byleth withdrew back into her vessel and flung her neck out of the arrow's path in a burst of adrenaline. She turned and swung wildly at the arrow she knew would follow but was met with white-hot pain as it caught in her shoulder. The Sword of the Creator segmented and coiled, snatching a third from the air.

She tore the arrow from her flesh and sprung into a dash toward the archer. The blade slithered around her form as she danced through the volley, splitting the shots that would have been true.

As soon as distance allowed it, Byleth roared on instinct and whipped her blade out into its full length to sting Bernadetta's heart. But the archer tossed the bow and ducked, narrowly avoiding decapitation as she chased the retreating coil with her sword drawn.

The relic only barely reforged its blade in time for Byleth to desperately block Bernadetta's swing, leaving herself open for a brilliantly dirty fist to the face.

Bernadetta, like all her students, had developed the sort of battlefield intuition one could only get from too much experience.

Reeling from a broken nose, Byleth blindly parried where she expected the follow-up would be. Swords clanged together and Bernadetta was forced on the back foot. Byleth remained the better swordfighter.

Movements grew sluggish, fatigue from the long battle catching up to them both as they settled into a rhythmic exchange of blows. Bernadetta's expression was steel—looking for any openings in Byleth's guard and capitalising on them recklessly, seemingly looking to impale herself on Byleth's sword just to land a killing blow of her own.

It ended in a flash. An overextended wrist torn open on the spine of the Sword of the Creator, followed by a pained cry and a sword bouncing on the floor.

Bernadetta stumbled back and Byleth chased in a frenzy, only barely stopping herself from cutting her down.

Bernadetta remained standing, her head turned in anticipation of a slash that wouldn't come. Byleth lowered her sword and wiped the drying blood from her upper lip. The only sounds left in the throne room from the distant dregs of battle outside and their ragged breaths.

Something needed to be said. To break the unbearable silence, to mend the rift between them. But there weren't words.

Instead, it was Bernadetta who spoke. "I— I don't think she ever expected to see the end of the war..." She sniffled, turning her gaze somewhere above Byleth's shoulder. "This is what she thought she deserved."

"I'm sorry, Bernadetta. I never wanted this."

"I don't care what you wanted. Y— You knew she would take her cause to the grave when you turned against her."

"I didn't start the war."

"No, of course not! It was _Edelgard_ who started the war. _Edelgard_ who killed your father. _Edelgard_ who destroyed Remire. Who... Who killed her siblings. Who stained all of our hands. Why couldn't she have j— just died a helpless little girl and saved the world from the burden of her existence?"

Byleth bit her trembling lip, the vile words strangling her heart. "Do you really think so little of me?"

"Lady Edelgard never stopped admiring you even while you crushed our entire war effort. She could never hate you." Bernadetta glanced in the direction of the heap of crimson near the throne, her shoulders stiffened and she turned back with a faint whimper. Her voice grew shrill as she continued, "I'm not that benevolent, Professor. I— I'll never forgive you for what you've done. If I wasn't so f— fucking weak I would take _everything_ from you and drag you with me to eternal torment."

Byleth reached unconsciously for her throat, rubbing the spot where an arrow had claimed her life in a nightmare. "Bernadetta..."

She was brought out of her daze in an instant when Bernadetta rushed her with a dagger in her still functioning hand. Byleth caught her by the wrist and flung her to the floor with some effort.

She kept her sword pointed at Bernadetta as she struggled to her feet. "Stop this. There's no reason to throw your life away."

A blur of movement followed by an earsplitting shriek and Bernadetta fell back to her knees, clutching a ruined hand and moaning through clenched teeth. The dagger clattered on the floor among errant fingers.

"Please, I don't want to kill you." The sight of her student writhing in pain beneath her brought bile to Byleth's throat. She couldn't handle another one.

Bernadetta's head remained downturned, her face obscured by her bangs as she trembled. "I— I'm not your student anymore, Professor. Wh— What you remember of me... it's been s— so long, I'm not the same," she released a long-suffering sigh before continuing, "I'm an Adrestian general. You can kill me now or I'll be hanged later, it doesn't matter."

"I can help you escape."

Bernadetta shook her head. "There's nothing here for me anymore."

"Bernadetta..." Byleth choked.

"J— Just shut up, professor. I'm sick of hearing it."

And then came the silence again. If there was something to be done for Bernadetta then Byleth could never be the one to do it. Not anymore.

Except, perhaps, for one thing.

"Should I bring you to her?"

Bernadetta grit her teeth against the pain as she clenched her bloodied fists in her lap. She nodded slowly.

Byleth approached carefully, sheathing the Sword of the Creator. She took the archer's hands and light shone between them, healing magic closing off the bleeding. Bernadetta kept her gaze averted. Her eyes were so weary—like the years since their last meeting had been a lifetime.

It was unbelievable that Bernadetta would find her place in the world in war. She had been among the students Byleth felt the worst about breaking in at the academy—desensitising her to killing had seemed pointless when she would most likely never touch a weapon again after her graduation.

Noticing Bernadetta leaning uncomfortably, Byleth spotted a jagged cut in her side. She moved to inspect it but was held back by trembling, mangled hands. Bernadetta was looking at her now—the bitter resentment in her eyes stung worse than any arrow could.

Byleth dropped her gaze and pulled her to her feet, offering her shoulder for support as they made their way toward the throne. 

She felt Bernadetta stiffen against her and grip her cloak at the waist as they got closer to the late Emperor. Her breaths grew rapid, tears streaking her face.

Edelgard was as she'd left her—splayed on her side, her head lolling from the deep gash in her neck. Her hair undone from the cracked headdress, stray locks dyed crimson in the pool of blood framing her head. Horrible dead eyes stared at nothing.

Byleth was shoved harshly as Bernadetta leapt to her Emperor's side, muttering repeated denial. The horns were thrown away and she cradled her neck carefully, pulling the lifeless body into an embrace.

Byleth turned away when she started sobbing and headed for the exit. The doors to the throne room stood open—some way down the hall the bodies of church soldiers lay scattered among a few imperial reds. Bernadetta must have intercepted her reinforcements. Arrows stood, expertly planted in her men's vitals. Her hand went to her throat again and a realisation surfaced from the hazy memory of her death.

"Sothis?"

There was no response, save the agonising wails from within the throne room.

In her brief year as an honorary professor, Byleth had thought of her lessons as a way to ensure her students could protect themselves—that was the reason Jeralt had trained her growing up.

Perhaps it was naive to think it would keep anyone safe. Byleth ended up using what she learned to enlist in Jeralt's company, and her students used what she taught them to enlist in a war. She, like Jeralt, had just taught her students the only thing she knew—they knew nothing of how to protect the people they loved.

But that wasn't fair—not to Jeralt. Whatever his faults, he would have always stuck with his kid, no matter what it might cost him.

He would never fight her.

Her knees grew weak and she propped herself up against a wall. She was crying, she realised. An unbearable nausea knotted her insides and she banged her head against the wall as if that would make it go away.

"I failed them..." Her voice strangled in her throat.

Still, no answer came. Bernadetta's cries ceased echoing in the halls.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope this felt like anything!! 
> 
> The next works in this series will be about characters dealing with some personal consequences of the fall of Adrestia. So far I'm thinking there will be three works in total, but you'll probably need to be patient with me. Sad and traumatised lesbians ahead.
> 
> \---  
> The Berniegard relationship is pretty much just assumed here since Edelgard was already dead from the start—it probably needed some more context to be self-contained like this but I'm kinda writing this freeform just as a way to explore the characters. As for the Black Eagle split, I honestly think it's weird that Edelgard has no allies except Hubert in Silver Snow—I understand why it had to be that way for the purposes of gameplay, but it's awkward as a story.
> 
> I personally like pretty much every character in Three Houses (I even think Kronya deserves better lol). Which is to say that when I portray animosity between characters, it doesn't mean I dislike one or the other. I just like conflict.
> 
> Any comments are appreciated but also feel free to leave constructive criticism. I don't have a second pair of eyes to look this over and I've had to re-read and edit it so much that I feel completely blind to its quality. There are definitely bits I wish were different but I can't look at this thing anymore.


End file.
